“Are you going to use any of these strawberries?” He asked for strawberries for his breakfast toast, so I bought 3 pints of beautiful, brilliant, ruby red strawberries from the farmers market. But as I am prone to do, I over-delivered. When I was at the Firm, I walked into the office believing, every single day, it would be my last. Because it was inevitable, surely, that everyone would eventually figure out I didn’t belong there. My LSAT score had been a fluke, my GPA a function of Korean-immigrant-guerilla-style studying and all-nighters, my personal statement about kindergarten and kimbap a clever diversion from the cookie-cutter “I want to be a lawyer because [insert]” essays that piled together into oblivion; and thus, my admission to my dream law school was similarly illegitimate. I never belonged at UChicago, and therefore, I couldn’t belong to the class of summer associates that interned at one of the largest law firms in the world. When I received my full-time offer, I ins...